Review: Kneecap

If you were to plot all self-starring music biopics on a spectrum, with A Hard Day’s Night (shameless self-mythologizing) on one end and Head (satirical deconstruction of the subjects’ public image) at the other, Kneecap would probably reside at the exact midpoint between the two extremes. Then again, it’s equally valid to argue that it belongs in its own separate category entirely; even within the context of its relatively loosely defined genre, the film defies convention, eluding concrete classification. Although it chronicles the formation and early days of the eponymous Irish band (albeit with many embellishments, distortions, and outright fabrications—it’s not quite as fictionalized as Weird: The Al Yankovic Story, but takes significantly more liberties with the truth than Rocketman), that’s merely the surface level of its narrative. It is, at its core, a story about language—from the protagonists’ efforts to preserve their near extinct native tongue to hip-hop’s ability to make marginalized communities heard.

The movie certainly doesn’t sugarcoat its depiction of these themes. Our heroes—a mild-mannered schoolteacher radicalized by the various indignities that he has suffered and a pair of disillusioned delinquents who find clarity of purpose in using art as a weapon against corrupt institutions of power—have zero patience for civility, diplomacy, and political correctness. Their lyrics are laden with expletives and obscenities, frequently referencing sex, drugs, and acts of vandalism—much to the chagrin of less brazen activists, who fear that the group’s antics will sabotage their admittedly noble cause. But are they really glorifying criminal behavior… or simply discussing their lived experiences in uncompromisingly honest terms? After all, when those who wield authority like a cudgel refuse to “reach across the aisle,” the oppressed can hardly afford to remain silent, submissive, and invisible—that’s a guaranteed path to annihilation (or worse: assimilation); their only recourse is to exist unapologetically—to be confrontational, provocative, audacious, nonconformist, and everything else that offends the fragile sensibilities of so-called “polite society.”

Because if puritans, tyrants, and fascists are going to tread on you no matter what, it’s better to be a tripping hazard than a welcome mat.

In a roundabout way, this rebellious, irreverent tone makes Kneecap something of a spiritual successor to the filmography of John Waters: a transgressive masterpiece that eviscerates good taste, flips off prudishness, and exposes “traditional moral values” for what they are: chains that enforce a rigid social hierarchy, preventing those less privileged than the ruling class from “rising above their station.” Any system that prioritizes the outward appearance of propriety over actual justice (and especially those that stigmatize specific kinds of speech and protest), these works assert, must be dismantled—whether by a shit-eating drag queen or a trio of foul-mouthed, verse-spitting hoods. It is, in short, the intellectual’s R-rated comedy—and if you’re skeptical about that claim, consider this: would an actor of Michael Fassbender's caliber have participated in the production if it had nothing of substance to say?